Chief of the Rings
by Josephus Prime
Summary: A star crashes from the heavens beyond Weathertop. But an ejected cylinder carries inside it a hero whose fate is now entwined with that of the Ringbearer.
1. Fallen Star

The planet was silent, asleep. Except for a volcano flaring and bubbling angrily to the east, everything else on the word was quiet. But high above Middle Earth, A large metal object, half of a frigate once called the _Forward Unto Dawn,_ plummeted downwards towards the world. On board in a large room filled with tubes large enough to fit a man inside were still. But in the center of the rectangular room, a small cylindrical platform stood, silent as a gravestone. But as the half began to burn in the atmosphere, a small blue woman appeared above the cylinder. She had just enough to time to mutter a quick "What the-" before she vanished.

* * *

Aragorn sighed. He couldn't understand these Hobbits. One minute, they feared for their life, the next they were insisting on having supper. Supper, according to the smaller one called Pippin, was very different than Dinner, which they had just ate. He ran a hand through his long black hair, and looked up to the heavens. All he wanted to do was rest here on Weathertop then get the Halflings too…

The ranger's eyes narrowed. Had that star been there before? No, it certainly hadn't, and the Hobbits took notice of it too. The one called Frodo looked up. "Say, isn't that star rather bright?" He queried.

His friend (and his gardener as well) looked up at the glowing star. "Yeah, it is, Mr. Frodo. What star is that, anyway?"

"That, I believe," said the one called Merry, "is a NEW star! They name 'em after true heroes, you know." He smirked. "They'll probably name that one after me!"

His cousin, and partner in pranks, Pippin, gave him an odd look. "What do you mean? You've ne'er done anythin' worth mentionin'! Ya 'ave to do somethin' _important _to be labeled a hero!" He jabbed his thumb at Frodo. "They'll probably name it after 'im."

Aragorn watched the star intently. It seemed to be growing larger, and the very sky seemed to burn with it. His eyes widened. "DOWN!!!" He yelled. As the hobbits all ducked, the giant ball of fire and smoke flew over them and towards some far away hills, exploding into a great fireball as it crashed. Aragorn and the Hobbits got to their feet and looked at the column of smoke now rising from where it had crashed. After a few moments of silence, Pippin finally voiced the question everyone's mind.

"What was that!?" Sam looked back up.

"A falling star…" he murmured with awe. "Oh, they'll never believe this back home…"

Frodo and Aragorn remained silent, still stunned by the event. Merry, however, began to walk towards the stairs. Pippin turned and looked at him. "What are you doin'?"

"I'm goin to have a look," Said Merry, as though this was obvious. Pippin shrugged and followed him, but both were stopped by Aragorn grabbing both of their cloaks.

"Hey!"

"Geroff me!"

"Are you two stupid??" he barked. "Whatever that was, star or not, it's too hot to go near now." The two hobbits sighed and he let them go. "Bed. Now. We can look at it in the morning." He said simply, and Sam, Pippin, Frodo, and Merry all hobbled to their blankets. Frodo stopped and looked up at Aragorn.

"Strider…"He said in a scared tone. "If it's not a star, what else could it be?"

The ranger didn't answer. He just looked back at the column of smoke now rising from the massive object.

Was it just him, or had something fallen from that ship as it passed over?


	2. Jolly Green Giant

_The foot of Weathertop, 2 hours after crash._

There is a saying that goes, "Let sleeping dogs lie." That goes double for Spartans who've just saved the galaxy from complete annihilation. Unfortunate, for Master Chief Petty Officer Sierra-117, AKA John, rest never came easily to him. Not because he had trouble sleeping, or any sort of nightmare. It's because he was always getting woken up because he had to go and save something. From kittens to colonies, he'd saved them all, and had done with barely any sleep.

So you can understand his frustration when the cryo pod suddenly began its reactivation sequence. Now, done by a team of cryogenic experts, like those on the _Pillar of Autumn_ had done, was a comfortable and easy way to wake up after being frozen. Done by the pod's systems, however, it was absolutely unbearable. It was like being woken up at 500 hours UNSC standard time by an alarm clock with an air horn.

It began with a small electrical charge that was quickly delivered to the body. This little jolt got the Spartan awake. John blearily looked around from under his helmet. Millions of small blinking white lights met his vision. 'Stars…' he thought, 'I must've been ejected from the ship.' Then it hit. The shrill, high pitched tone that made his ears ring. "I'm up, I'm up!" he yelled, punching a button that opened the door. It hissed open, letting oxygen flow freely into the pod. The Spartan kicked the door and watched it fall straight to the ground. The Spartan pressed his foot down on the doorway, grabbed either side of the open hatch, and poked his head out.

He certainly wasn't in space.

Before him, long grassy fields and hills went on forever, meeting the starry heaven at the horizon. John slowly stepped out of the pod, looking all around him. His pod had fallen at the foot of a large, decaying tower. While it was probably once a proud outpost, it was now sporting quite a few missing stones. The Chief suddenly strained his ears. A scream had just echoed over the landscape from atop the tower. It sounded a lot like someone young. Whoever it was, they were in trouble.

John looked around and looked around for a gun. Not finding one, he decided to use his best weapon, his fists, to deal with whatever the hell was going on up there. He turned on his heel and dashed up the spiral staircase. As the Spartan ran, the sound of battle became louder and louder. When he finally reached the top, he was surprised by what he saw. Five cloaked figures, each carrying a very long and nasty looking sword, were surrounding a small boy. He heard a small gasp and looked down.

* * *

Merry couldn't believe it. The Ringwraiths had followed them here. Here, where they should have been safe. The five that had followed them so far were here, and one of them had just stabbed Frodo. Suddenly, next to him, Pippin gave a gasp of fright. They both looked up to see a massive figure. It was covered from head to toe in green armor, with a very odd helmet design. It stood a least seven feet tall, and looked down upon them from behind a metallic orange reflective visor. Merry glared at this demon-like figure, almost daring him to try and attack them. His reflection in the visor glared back at him.

It couldn't be as dangerous as the Ringwraiths, could it?

* * *

Huddled nearby were three other young boys. One of them look horrified by what he saw, another glared at him as if challenging him. The one that was lying on the ground before the cloaked figures was looking pale and clutching his chest. The Spartan assumed that this was the one that had been stabbed. The last, however, was slowly getting up from being knocked aside.

The Spartan gave one last glance at them, and then he charged. Disregarding his hand-to-hand combat training under Mendez, he grabbed one of the cloaked figures by the back of it's head, lifted it up, and threw it into the one opposite him. The figure's sword dropped with a clatter to the stone ground as it stumbled back and fell over the edge. John took advantage of this quick surprise attack garb the sword and charge again. The only sword he had used before was a covenant energy sword, but this would still do.

The cloaked figure that he charged at shrieked and raised his sword to block his strike. To Chief, the long sword was as light as an SMG, but his opponent didn't seem to have Spartan strength. With a few quick whacks, he got the creature to leave its chest open for attack. Raising his leg, he planted his big green boot right in its chest and sent it flying off the side as well. He heard the other figures shriek and turned around. Another man, wielding a sword and a torch, had joined the fray, and was fighting off another one of the creatures. They didn't seem to be too fond of fire, as they shrieked even more and backed away. But as one came up from behind him, he whirled and threw the torch like a knife. It landed directly in the center of the creature's hood. It let out a shriek like a banshee and tumbled away off the side of the tower.

The Spartan was reasonably impressed. He looked down as the blade he had been using suddenly turned to dust, leaving only the hilt behind. He tossed it way off the side. But when the Spartan turned around, he found a blade in his face. John paused.

"What are you doing?" he asked simply.

* * *

Aragorn's expression went from ferocious to confused to shocked. It had spoken to him in common tongue. This green giant had just spoken to him a gruff, deep, gritty voice. And yet, he didn't seem scary at all. There was a pause as the armored figure took a step forward. "Funny way of saying thanks, if you ask me."

Aragorn blinked at him. "What are you?" He tried to ask, but before the words could leave his lips, he heard Sam call to him from behind him.

* * *

"STRIDER!" He heard one of the young boys call. They both looked to see him kneeling next to the boy the things had stabbed. The other two boys had joined him. The man, now identified as Strider dashed over to examine the boy. John walked over and stood over him, looking down at the pale figure.

"He has been stabbed by a Morgul blade," said Strider. "This is beyond my talents. He requires Elvish medicine if he is to survive." He looked back up at John. "I thank you for your aid, stranger."

John nodded. "Need any more help? I'm pretty sure those things will be coming back."

* * *

Aragorn was somewhat surprised. Very, very few often wished to remain by someone's side after they had been attacked by Ringwraiths. "What sort of being are you that can stare so unflinchingly into the face of doom?" He asked in a surprised voice. The great green being paused and looked at him. Or at least, that's what he assumed he was doing. Aragorn could see his reflection in the visor of the figure. Finally, he answered in a voice that sounded like it had been put through hell and back because of what it was.

"I'm a Spartan."


	3. On the Run

"_I'm a Spartan."_

_

* * *

_

There was a pause as the group took in this one defining sentence, only broken by Frodo's occasional moan. Finally Sam broke it.

"Beggin' your pardon, Mr. Spartan, Sir," He asked, feeling a little bit nervous as the giant looked down at him, "But you wouldn't happen to have come from that fallen star, now would ya?"

The helmet cocked to the side. "Fallen star?" Sam pointed out on the horizon, where the fire of the crash site was lighting up the sky like a fresh sunrise and smoke was billowing upwards.

* * *

John looked outwards that burning sky. Instantly he was reminded of how the Flood-infected covenant cruiser had burned in New Mombassa. He felt his heart shatter. "No…" he whispered. He slowly walked to the edge of the tower and looked out. "No…Not again…"

He felt a hand clasp tightly on his shoulder. He looked around and saw Strider looking sympathetically at him. "I am sorry, Spartan. I do not believe anyone other than you survived the impact." He looked back out at the fires as well. "What was it?"

"A ship. Well, at least half of one." The Spartan said. Then he stood straight and offered a salute to the now destroyed _Forward Unto Dawn_. To Miranda. To Johnson.

To Cortana.

He heard a shuffling of clothes behind him and saw one of the boys mimicking his pose. He was looking out at the scene in sadness. The Spartan nearly smiled under his helmet. "At ease, soldier." He said in a quiet voice. The boy nodded and lowered his hand.

The pale one moaned again, And John jumped into action.

* * *

"Have we stopped the bleeding?" Aragorn looked at the armored figure, surprised. He was obviously accustomed to dealing with losses like this. 'Poor man…'

"Yes, but the Morgul blade is a foul weapon. If we do not get him to the elves in time, then he will turn into one of the Ringwraiths." He looked up at the Spartan. "I believe both of us have stories to tell, but they must wait until Frodo is safe."

"Understood." Said the Spartan, and before they knew it, he had Frodo over his shoulder. "Let's go."

* * *

Aragorn was having a hard time keeping pace with the Spartan. He ran faster than any other being he had encountered. Elves were excellent distance runners, Dwarves were amazing sprinters, and Humans could do both. Btu a Spartan, it seemed, could leave all of them behind.

* * *

John kept running. All the while, the voices of his past kept haunting his mind. But he kept going. That's what Spartans did, after all. "How much farther? I'm losing the kid."

"He's not a kid, Mr. Spartan, sir! He's a Hobbit!" Said a very exhausted boy behind him. He had introduced himself as Sam as they were running, along with his other two friends, Pippin and Merry.

"A what?"

"Halflings?" he asked, panting, "Shire-folk??" John shook his head.

"Never heard of you." Frodo gave a moan. His eyes were beginning in to turn a sick milky color, and his face was becoming stark white. "Is there something we can do to slow the spread of the poison?"

* * *

Aragorn slowed down. They were in the middle of a forest now, and night was still upon them. "Perhaps. Sam," He said, turning to the gardener. "Do you know what athelas is? Also known as kingsfoil?"

"Aye sir!" piped up the Hobbit, "It's a weed!"

"It may help to slow the spread of the poison," Aragorn explained. And with that the two took off into the woods to find some.

* * *

John watched Strider and Sam run off to find their weed. He sat down on a lgo, laying Frodo gently down on the ground. He gave a sigh. So far, this had not been a good day. Then again, he couldn't remember the last 'good day' he had.

"Uhm, Mr. Spartan, sir?" John looked up. The Hobbit who identified himself as Pippin was approaching him rather nervously, as if John was about to turn into some beast and tear his head off. His friend Merry was watching them both warily from a distance. "May I, eh, ask you soemthin'?"

The Spartan nodded. This seemed to make him even more nervous. "Uhm, If you, um, don't mind me askin', sir," He paused, as if trying to force it out, "Whatsaspartan?" Pippin asked quickly. John paused.

"What?"

"Eh…" Pippin wrung his hands together. It was quite scary talking to this giant from beyond the stars. Well, to Hobbits, many things looked like giants, but this Spartan fellow was even taller than Strider. "What's a Spartan?" He finally managed to ask. There was a pause as the Spartan looked up into the canopy above them.

"A person," he began, "who has been changed into a super soldier." He didn't want to give these things too much information. He wasn't sure if he could trust them yet. But Pippin didn't stop there.

"Are there, y'know," he asked, pausing again to wring his hands, "more of you?"

He had asked it. The question the Spartan was dreading to answer had been asked. There was a silence as he contemplated how to answer. Finally, he managed to answer with one word. "Once."

But before Pippin could ask, there was a great thundering of hooves. The Spartan got up, ready for a fight. But instead of the cloaked figures from before, Sam, Strider, and a woman on horseback entered the clearing. The woman got off of her horse and began to speak to Frodo softly in some strange tongue.

The Spartan got an odd vibe from this woman. It was like she wasn't human, but she looked just like one. Then he took note of her pointed ears as she knelt down beside Frodo.

"She's an elf," he heard Sam whisper in awe. His gaze flashed back to her as she and Strider helped her place Frodo in a saddle.

'An elf?'

* * *

Aragorn helped Arwen place Frodo in the saddle. She looked towards the green armored giant who was standing behind the Hobbit. "Who is he?"

"I'm not sure," Said Aragorn, following her gaze before looking back at her fair face, "But he fought off three wraiths barehanded, and insisted on coming with us incase they came back." Arwen looked back art him, stunned.

"_What_ is he??" Aragorn sighed.

"He calls himself a Spartan. I have no idea what that means," He said quickly, before she could ask, "But no doubt your father will figure him out before I. Now go." She climbed up into the saddle and whispered something to the horse, who took off.

"What are you doin'??" Sam yelled at Strider, "Those wraiths are still out there!!"

Strider didn't answer. A silence fell over the clearing as the beating of hooves faded away. John looked at the place where she had vanished.

Why had she looked at him with fear in her eyes?

* * *

Arwen waited on the other side of the river, The Black Riders pouring the ground on the other side. The trap was baited, now to spring it.

"_Give up the Halfling, She-elf!!_" One of them rasped. She drew her sword.

"If you want him, come and claim him!" She challenged. The wraiths shrieked, drawing their swords. Arwen began to whisper under her breath as they charged across the river. As she finished, waters began to rise. There was a sudden rushing sound, and a wall of water began to flood down the river. The Black Riders, trapped in the middle of the river, couldn't escape s the wall of water crushed them. Frodo began to moan; he was fading, and fading fast.

She slipped from the horse and placed him on the soft ground. Cradling his head close to her chest, she began to rock back and forth.

A pounding of hooves, brought her out of her trance. She looked up to see three Elven woodsmen, dressed in full battle garb, there long bows strapped over their backs over their smooth cloaks.

"Lady Arwen!" said the lead one in Elvish, "Come, we must get the Hobbit to your father." She nodded and lifted Frodo back onto her saddle. She had her foot on the reigns before she thought of something. "There are others who were traveling with this one; they are back across the river." The lead one nodded and took off across the river, while Arwen and the escort rode home.

* * *

It felt like they had been running for ages. The Spartan was even feeling a slight strain, but they kept going. Finally, they heard hoof beats, and a woodsman rode out from behind a large clump of trees. He was truly a sight to behold. His silver plated armor and his long blonde hair shone in the noon sun. Aragorn greeted him in Elvish, but the man was distracted. His eyes were shocked to behold the sight they saw. The group all followed his stare to the Spartan, who looked right back at the Elf from behind his visor.

"What?" said John. He figured he was just surprised to see a Spartan (just like everyone else), but what he whispered back was something John hoped never to hear again.

"Reclaimer…"

* * *

**Author's Note: My apologies for the rushed chapter, but I want to at least get through Moria by Christmas, and I'm going to have a lot of stuff in Rivendell too. Not to mention the play I'm in will take up a lot fo my time. Happy Black Friday, and thanks for reading!!**


	4. Returns

"_What?" said John. He figured he was just surprised to see a Spartan (just like everyone else), but what he whispered back was something John hoped never to hear again._

"_Reclaimer…"_

_

* * *

_When a human being is stressed, they do various things, like exercise or overeat. When a Spartan is stressed, they pace like crazy, and that's exactly what John was doing. He and the group had been escorted to Rivendell, but when they had arrived, he had been separated from them and been given a small room on the lower floors. Where the rest of the group was, he wasn't sure.

So he was pacing. 'How?' He wondered, 'How did they know that name??'

Then he heard it. A mechanical voice humming behind him, growing steadily louder. Then it stopped and he heard the voice say, "Oh, Hello, Reclaimer!" He whirled on his feet and there it was.

A large silver, rounded cube, hollow in the center, with a hole in each side was floating behind him, just about eye level. The side facing him one facing him had a large blue, circular headlight in it its hole. This was someone he had killed long ago. The Monitor of Installation 04, 343 Guiltily Spark.

"YOU!!!" He roared, and made a grab at the monitor. It hovered swiftly back and he nearly fell over.

"Oh, dear," said Spark sadly, "A rather aggressive greeting. But," his voice said, cheering up suddenly, "A greeting nonetheless! How excellent I get to aid you again!!"

"Aid me?" John said. "You can aid me by coming down here and letting me put my fist through your eye."

"Ah. Yes, a response I had foreseen." Said Spark, "but rest assured, you will not be able to touch me." The Spartan paused, looking up at the monitor.

"How did you survive?"

"I didn't," Said the cube, "You destroyed me. And then my Installation. AGAIN." As he said this, his eye slowly began to turn a very angry red. "Protocol dictated waiting until the ring was complete! But no, you were in a hurry, so you fired MY ring!!"

"You killed Sergeant Johnson," The Spartan said simply, as the Robot furiously began to float from one spot to another, "You nearly killed ME. AGAIN."

"PROTOCOL DICTADED ACTION!!!" The robot shouted, "I REGRET NOTHING!! THAT RING WAS MINE!! YOU MAY BE A DECENDENT OF MY CREATORS, BUT THAT RING WAS _**MINE!!!**_" He punctuation this last word with a blast of his red hot laser, firing it off into a wall. The Spartan looked over at the wall. There wasn't a single mark on it. "But…" Spark continued, as he calmed down, his light turning blue once more, "Now that my ring is gone, my only function is to help you again!" John looked back up at the robot. Then it hit him.

"You're a hallucination."

"Indeed!" Said Spark jovially, "I am here to help you-"

"So if you're a hallucination," The Spartan interrupted as he looked down at his hands, "Then I must be losing my mind."

"Not at all, Reclaimer." He looked back up at Spark. "Your mind has undergone a surreal amount of stress. You have lost almost all of those who are dear to you. As such, your mind is also trying to deal with the guilt and trying to keep itself the mind of a warrior."

John cocked his helmet at the robot. "But I feel fine. Losing people is nothing new to me." But as he said this, a pang of sadness when through his heart.

"Oh, indeed," Said Spark, "You are the last of the Spartans, Keyes and his female offspring are dead, you know nothing of the fate of Earth, I killed Johnson, and now Cortana is gone." He said this as if he was counting them off on invisible fingers. "You've lost just about everyone."

"Gee, thanks," Said the Chief sarcastically.

"I do not understand how that merits gratitude."

"It doesn't," the Chief said simply.

"Oh." Suddenly Spark looked up. It sounded like people were walking towards his cell. "I believe my task here is completed. You have recognized the problem, Reclaimer; therefore I have one last function I must perform." He swiveled around to look master Chief straight in the helmet. "I am not the last of the hallucinations you will experience. More will follow me until you have finally dealt with your problem. Farewell, Reclaimer!!" and with that he vanished.

The door swung open to reveal a pair of elves. One had long dark hair and a furrowed brow. John could tell by the way he carried himself that this was the elf in charge. The other one looked like a guard. The dark haired one looked over at the Spartan. "Was there someone else in here? We heard voices."

"No, Sir," Said the Chief. He figured that he might as well give this man the same respect he would give a commanding officer. The elf gave him a piercing glare.

"What is your name, Reclaimer?" The way eh asked it sounded like he was trying to get at something else. Then it hit him. He was a prisoner, and this was an interrogation.

"Master Chief Petty Officer Sierra-117." He said. That would be all they'd get out of him. But instead of pressuring, the guard leaned over to the head elf's ear.

"You see?" he said, in a voice the Chief had no trouble hearing, "He is mad. We ask for his name, he gives us a riddle of words and numbers." The Elf looked at the guard with a raised eyebrow.

"You obviously are still young in some ways." He looked back over at the Spartan, running his eyes over his armor, as if assessing a threat. "The first four words were not a riddle, but a rank. He is a member of a military somewhere. As for the last word and number, I do not understand them any more than you do. But," he said, finally looking back at the Chief's visor, "It appears our Reclaimer friend is in prefect health."

"Why do you call me that?" John asked. The head elf gave him a small smile.

"Tell me your real name, Reclaimer, and I shall call you that instead." When John didn't answer, he walked forward and placed a hand on his armored shoulder. "You have nothing to fear from us, my friend." And The Chief realized the he didn't.

"John." He said. And the elf smiled

"In that case, John," he said, walking him over to the open door (The Spartan had to duck a little to get through) "I bid you welcome to Rivendell."

It was a sight to behold. Great, gleaming arches and bridges, looking as f they had grown there, filled a valley, alongside huts and great stone buildings. The Chief looked back at the dark haired elf.

"Who're you?"

The Elf gave a slight bow of the head and then stood straight, a figure of authority. "My name is Elrond. And this is my domain."

"You are welcome to go anywhere you like to in the city," Elrond said as he led the Spartan around, the guard following them, "Our library is the most diverse in the land, and our woods and gardens are perfect for walks." He had just given John the grand tour of the city. He had even introduced him to his daughter, the dark haired elf who had taken Frodo. Her name was Arwen. As for Frodo, he was fast asleep. After Arwen had gotten him to Rivendell, Elrond had fixed him up. How he had done it was still a mystery to the Spartan.

"There is one very important favor you must do for me." Elrond said as the came to a stop in the middle of one of the bridges. "You must never, under any circumstances, leave this place. Shadows are creeping into our woods again, and while I full understand that you can fully take care of yourself, it would be better for us if your existence remained a secret to our enemies."

The Chief looked down at him, confused. "What enemies?" Elrond looked out over the side of the bridge at the waterfall cascading downwards. The Spartan followed his look.

"John, there is a danger growing in the east. In time, I will ask for your help in fighting back, but for now, I believe its best that you remain here."

The Spartan nodded. "So until then, I'm a prisoner here?"

Elrond gave him an odd look. "A prisoner, no. You can choose to ignore my warning and leave, or you can stay here where you can help us." But before the Spartan could ask any more questions, a great screech came from above. Every head in the area swiveled up in time to see a gigantic eagle soar down and land behind one of the larger buildings. Elrond and the Chief ran straight to the building.

* * *

The Eagle had been a very rough ride, but Gandalf the Grey was glad to be safe once more. He gave the eagle a gentle pat on the back and slid down to the ground. Several elves rush over to help him to Elrond. The Elf looked him up and down, taking note of his scraggly robes and dirty face and beard. "Who?" was all he asked. Gandalf looked up at Elrond.

* * *

"Saruman," He said, and John heard the hint of anger in his voice. The crownd around then began to whisper, some in fright, others in anger. Then his eyes landed on the green giant behind him. He gave him a smile and a nod. "I apologize that we must meet when I am not at top form, John of the Spartans."


	5. Answers

"_Saruman," He said, and John heard the hint of anger in his voice. Then his eyes landed on the green giant behind him. He gave him a smile and a nod. "I apologize that we must meet when I am not at top form, John of the Spartans."_

_

* * *

_John watched the grey robed man closely as he leaned on the wall behind him, arms crossed. They were in Frodo's room, where the young hobbit was resting peacefully, a wet cloth over his forehead. The color had returned to his face, and he looked much healthier. His friend Sam was constantly at his side on the other side of the bed, and only left to either go to the bathroom or to get more water for the cloth.

After he had made a spectacular entrance on the back of the massive eagle, he had called John by his name. None here but Elrond knew his real name. Most called him 'Reclaimer' whenever they greeted him. They even gave a small bow, which, to their surprise, he returned, believing it to be the common courtesy. But what still bothered the green armored giant was how they knew the name 'Reclaimer'. Spark was dead, so he couldn't have told them. But as he watched Sam excuse himself to wet the cloth again, he forced that question form his mind.

Now was the opportunity to ask something more pressing.

* * *

As soon as Sam had left the room, Gandalf looked up at the Spartan with a smile on his face. "You've been making quite a stir here, 'Reclaimer'." He gave a huff and a small cloud of smoke puffed from his mouth. "I believe you have questions for me."

"Several," said the gritty voice of the Spartan. "First, how do you know my name and what I am?"

* * *

The grey man's smile widened. John fought the urge to smile himself. Spartans did not often have emotional outbursts. "I know a great many things," He said, puffing on his pipe, "But you are still a mystery to me."

"That doesn't answer my question," John said. But before he could press him for more information, Frodo began to stir.

"Where am I?" he mumbled.

"In bed," Said Gandalf, looking down at the young hobbit, "It's morning. On October the twenty-fourth, if you want to know." The Spartan gave him a quick glance. It must have surprised him greatly that they used the same calendar. The Hobbit sat up, his eyes fixed on Gandalf.

"Gandalf?" he asked hopefully, a smile on his face. The grey pilgrim nodded, his own smile never leaving his face. Then the Hobbit noticed the green giant next to his bed. His face went from joy to shock in an instant. Gandalf gave an amused chuckle.

"You have nothing to fear from our large friend here. In fact, if it wasn't for him," he gave John a kind glance, "I doubt you would be here." Frodo began to look at the Spartan with a look of gratitude. "Frodo Baggins," Gandalf said, "allow me to introduce you to John of the Spartans." Frodo held out his small hand and the green giant shook it gently, giving him a nod as he did.

"My thanks for saving me and my kin," the Hobbit said, taking back his hand.

"Don't mention it," Said John in his deep, gritty voice.

"Mr. Frodo!" They looked over as Sam ran back in to the room. "You're awake!" He gave Frodo a swift pat on the arm. Gandalf gave another one of his chuckles. As Elrond entered, John got up and left, walking outside to the balcony, looking out upon Rivendell. It really was quite a beautiful place. But now that it seemed to be somehow connected to his past, the great valley looked a little more sinister. As he looked out at the expanse, the Chief's mind began to run at a million thoughts a minute.

What the heck was he doing here? This didn't seem like your average planet. And they used Earth calendars too. And furthermore, he thought as he looked at Frodo, now being led out of the room by Sam, what was so important about that hobbit? Granted he had only just recently learned what hobbits were, but still, for one to be treated like this must mean he had some sort of importance.

He looked down the balcony again as Frodo met up with Merry and Pippin. They celebrated for a bit before Frodo saw someone else. John followed his gaze and saw a fifth Hobbit, with bleach white hair get up and hug Frodo tightly as the younger ran to meet him. As he watched he heard someone calling his name. He turned around and saw Elrond motioning for him to follow Gandalf and him out of the room. The Chief complied.

Wherever they were leading him to, it better lead to answers.

* * *

Frodo was exhilarated as he listened to Uncle Bilbo talk about his plan to retrace his steps, going back to the misty mountain to remember his adventure. As he listened to him talk, a thought occurred to Frodo. This thought quickly turned into a question, which he promptly asked, as all curious Hobbits did.

"Uncle Bilbo," he asked cautiously, "Do you know what a Spartan is?"

Bilbo looked up from his map, his eyes flaring with a curious glint. "I'm afraid not. Why?"

"It's just," Said Frodo, looking down at his feet, "There's this man named John a massive being in green armor. He saved us, and Gandalf calls him a Spartan."

"Ah!" Said Bilbo snapping his fingers, "You must mean the Recalimer!"

Frodo looked back up. "Recalimer?"

"Yes, yes," Bilbo said, waddling over to his bag and pulling out a large, dusty tome. "It's a legend passed down among the elves. A fantastic story as well." He placed it down on the table and looked up at Frodo, a look of excitement in his eyes. "I got this tome as a birthday gift some years ago. A wonderful read, and it includes the legend of the Great Reclaimer." He opened it up and began to read a certain part.

"_And upon the small sphere-world, the gods, regretfully, left their kin behind. As the Scourge had been contained, and many called for a new home. But looking back upon the world, a prophecy was made. 'Of our kin, whom we abandon here, a warrior shall arise. He shall defy Gods and Demons. He shall be their Shield and their Sword. He shall reclaim what was once theirs. Hero, whoever thou may be, I name thee Reclaimer.'"_

Bilbo looked back up, a grin on his face. "The story goes on to say that The Reclaimer shall make stars go out, and end the threat of this Scourge…thing once and for all."

Frodo's eyes widened. "Bilbo, what's the Scourge?"

Bilbo's smile faded. "The stories say…it's a force of nature. Something that kills whatever it touches. But the description calls it, 'A flood of the dead'."

"Flood of the dead?"

"Yes," Bilbo said as he sat down, a solemn tone in his voice. "Now, this is where opinions differ. Many believe that the Reclaimer returning here is a sign that the Scourge has been annihilated. But others believe that if he is here, then the scourge must be as well."


	6. One Ring

The wreckage of the _Forward Unto Dawn_ smoldered in the countryside, the massive area of wreckage expanding over miles. The few poor folks who had dared to venture near it had either gotten burns from the still hot metal, or had been driven away by something else.

Something darker that was stirring inside.

A small tendril of something leaked out from the hull of the ship. Scarred and badly burnt, large, bulbous form followed, more tendrils feeling around its new home.

Odd. This world was brand new to this organism, but it felt…familiar…

But no time to think. The organism wasn't made to think. It was made to begin the cycle of life of its species.

Time to find a host.

* * *

Chief looked around the library. These elves had more books than he could count, stacked up on shelves that stretched up to the roof.

"Nice."

"I thought you might be impressed," Said Elrond as he poured Gandalf a drink from a large glass pitcher, "This is my study. I have had a great deal of time for learning. As of late, however, I have been incapable of finding time."

"Because of this danger at your doorstep?" The Spartan said, looking out the window at the city before him.

Elrond sighed. "I'm afraid so." The elf looked out another window alongside Gandalf. The green giant moved over behind them. They were looking down on a small walkway, upon which Frodo seemed to be helping a wrinkled old man up from his seat. "His strength returns…" Elrond said, his tone one of slight surprise.

"That wound will never fully heal," Gandalf said sadly, "he'll carry that for the rest of his life."

"Still," Elrond said, turning back to the room, "to have come so far bearing the ring, the Hobbit has shown a remarkable resilience to its evil."

John's head shot up. "Ring? What ring?" The two other men ignored him. Gandalf was becoming slightly hostile towards the elfish lord.

"It is a burden he should never have had to bear." The wizard's eyes looked into Elrond's with ferocity of eternal youth. "We can ask no more of him." The Spartan looked from one to the other. Both, it seemed, were equal in power, and equals in each others eyes, but they stood fiercely for their opinions.

"Gandalf," Elrond said, glaring at the wizard, "The enemy is moving. Sauron's forces are massing in the East: His Eye is fixed on Rivendell. And Saruman, you tell me, has betrayed us," He shook his head sadly, "Our list of allies grows thin."

"And yet, in our time of need, we find another." Gandalf said, smiling over at John. The Spartan turned to him and crossed his arms.

Elrond's eyes looked at the wizard in shock. "You expect a Reclaimer to go forth and fight evil alone?" His eyes moved between the two men. "He is a being of power, this is certain, but not even he could defeat both Sauron and Saruman."

"And yet," said the Wizard, stepping forward, "You intend to use him for such a purpose."

John had had enough. He took a massive stride in between both of the old men. "How about this: You all tell me what's going on and I'll try and help. First," He said, his helmet turning to Elrond, "What's this Ring? Who's Sauron and what does he have to do with this?"

The elf sighed and turned away. "You tell him, Gandalf. I must greet the others."

"Others?" Once again, the Spartan's question went unanswered as the elf walked away. The Wizard behind him sighed.

"Long ago, nineteen rings were made, with the strength and will to govern the three races of Middle Earth. Three were given to the elves. Elrond possesses one of them. Seven were given to the Dwarves, and nine…nine were given to the kings of men."

"And it all turned out too good to be true?" The wizard nodded. He stepped over to a chair and sat down, sighing as most weary old men do.

"In secret, a twentieth ring was made. The Dark Lord, Sauron, poured his black heart and vile soul into the ring." The Spartan kneeled down on one leg next to the chair as Gandalf continued. "That one ring is the ring of power. And inscription is burned into it in the dark tongue. It reads," He said, his eyes becoming cold, "'One ring to rule them all, One ring to find them, One ring to bring them all,'" He took a deep breath, "'And in the darkness, bind them.'"

"So the ring Frodo carries-"

"-Is the One Ring itself." The Spartan stood up and walked to a window. He looked down at an entrance to the city. He narrowed his eyes. "The fate of the ring," Gandalf said, staying put, "is the fate of all Middle Earth. If it is destroyed, then evil will be vanquished from the world. But if it is allowed to exist and fall back into the hands of it's master…"

"…You guys are in trouble." The Spartan stated, realization coming over him.

"Indeed."

"So," John turned back to the Wizard, "the cloaked assassins on that outpost were who?" The old wizard groaned as he got up from the seat.

"I shall explain them to you later, once we find the time," He sighed again, "Though during this turbulent age, it always feels as if we have no time." Gandalf resumed his walk to the door. "Off to bed, for now, I think." He looked back at the Spartan as he opened the door. "Feel free to wander about, of you like. Goodnight, John."

The green giant nodded as the wizard stepped out. He looked out the window.

Great Evil power?

Not enough time?

Possible extinction?

He snorted. That sounded far too familiar for his own comfort.


	7. Forming the Fellowship

_Terribly sorry for taking so long, but this thing called "Life" keeps interfering. That and I have several other literary projects I'm working on. Enjoy!_

When the Chief awoke the next morning, he tried to process everything that had happened so far. He had crashed on a strange new planet, lost Cortana, been wrapped up in some fantasy-like war, and he had begun hallucinating. On top of that, he still was unsure if this whole thing was one big, bad dream or not.

Not the usual itinerary for a Spartan, but then again, what else is new?

The chief stood up as he dressed himself into his armor and attempted to untangle himself from the robes the elves gave him that he had slept it. They were large enough to be sheets. In fact, they might have been, for an elf. But as he dressed, he began to think, not of his adventure, but of what might being happening meanwhile.

Had Earth been saved? Had the Covenant Separatists returned safe? What was the fate of The Arbiter?

And where, oh where, was Cortana? He had only seen the ship burn, but there had been plenty of time during entry in which she could have saved herself in a pod and then ejected into space. Maybe she was still floating up there, alone, and cold in orbit.

Or maybe she really was gone.

John shook his head. That thought was unsettling. Cortana? Dead? She had been his closest companion, and a true part of him. Maybe even the closest thing he had ever come to having any kind of friendship with anyone of the opposite sex. Cortana may have been a Smart A.I., but she had been so real..

He slid the helmet on, missing her smooth voice speaking in his ear, just as close with every turn. John stepped toward the door, dressed, and opened it, his thoughts on the blue lady.

Now, a SPARTAN-II is always ready for battle. See, there's no warning in war, or in life, so a threat may arrive without a single notice.

No sooner had John opened the door than something, long, thin, and very bright tried to bury itself in the Chief's door. It found itself in his grasp instead. He gazed on it, observing its texture, direction, and make.

"Do you like it, my friend?" A familiar voice asked. The Chief looked up to see Strider standing a few yards away, walking towards him with a large crossbow resting on his shoulder. It was a deep brown, the same color as the bark on the trees surrounding the city. A long, thin, golden line wound its way around the body of the crossbow. There was a large cylinder tucked right in front of the butt of the crossbow.

John stepped forward and took the crossbow from the ranger's grip. It was actually not very light, even for a Spartan, but it must have been as heavy as a large rock to the man. Although…John looked down at Strider. "There's a weight in the butt. It allows for melee use?"

"Indeed. Elvish design," The man said, running a hand over the smooth wood, "It is merely a new idea. They require someone to do some field testing."

The Spartan tilted his head. "What makes you think I'll have an opportunity to do that? Elrond has ordered me to stay here."

Strider grinned widely. "There is a meeting later this day. I'm not expecting anyone to follow me there who is not invited."

John blinked. Strider was up to something, and he wanted John to be in on it. "Understood," The Spartan said, a hint of surprise in his voice. What was so special about this meeting?

It was a rare event, to be sure.

A gathering of all the races of the West. Men, Elves, and Dwarves all sat surrounding a large stone stable. As Elrond surveyed them, he took note of two very strange things.

One, that there was a newcomer to the circle. A very small newcomer, with curly hair and a scared face. Perhaps it was a dwarf, many speculated, or a human child, but others looked at the hairy feet and small stature, and immediately identified it as a Halfling; Shire folk.

The other was something only Elrond noticed. Aragorn, the epitome of ease, seemed slightly…could it be? Nervous? His eyes kept looking around at various pillars and large bushes, as if he was expecting something to be hiding there.

Elrond stood. No time to dwell on such trivial things. There was work to be done. He took a deep breath, and called the meeting to order.

Safe behind a pillar in the balcony above where Aragorn sat, John leaned against it and listened to Elrond's voice echo over the open area, the crossbow magnetized to his pack. "Strangers from distant lands," the elves' voice boomed, "friends of old. You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor."

A noticeable shiver ran through the crowd at that word, but Elrond did not break pace. "Middle Earth stands upon the brink of destruction; none can escape it. You will unite," His eyes passed over the Men, Elves, and Dwarves, wondering whether they could unite, "or you will fall."

"Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom." There was a pause. The Chief listened as Elrond said something to Frodo. A few moments later, there was a light tremor, like a wave of power as…something dark, something strong connected to this place. With recent intel, only one thing could make anyone feel that way. The soldier peeked down and got his first look at the one ring.

At first glance, it was nothing but a gold band. But as he looked, he noticed how very clean it was. Something that old should at least be noticeably scratched or dirty. And then, there was a whisper, small, but there, in his ear.

_"John…John…"_

John looked down at the proceedings. A man stood up and proclaimed that it should be used as a weapon. But Strider silenced him. But his name, as it was revealed a few moments later, was not Strider, but Aragorn. 'A prince in exile,' The soldier thought to himself, 'and the redhead doesn't like the idea of his father losing power.'

Over the next few minutes, many things happened. A shard of a dwarves axe nearly embedded itself in the pillar the SPARTAN his behind as he tried to destroy the ring. The redhead explained, in a voice that hinted at both fear and rage, what Mordor was like.

And then the entire place dissolved into chaos.

"NEVER TRUST AN ELF!!!"

Gimli's shout was just one of many that rang through the meeting place. Frodo rubbed his forehead as Gandalf joined the fray, his old, strong voice trying to gain power over the others. What was this pain, the hobbit wondered, this unceasing ache? He looked at the ring. It whispered in a foul, evil tongue. Flames welled up in the ring, and the orld was burned to ashes, and, and, and, and,…

He had to do it. Frodo stood up, and yelled at the top of his small lungs, "I WILL TAKE IT!"

"I WILL TAKE IT!" The Chief's eyes snapped to the small voice as it repeated again. No one heard, they were all to busy squabbling. He sighed. 'Cortana would kill me for this,' he thought. And then, he vaulted over the railing and landed with a crunch on one of the chairs, crushing it beneath him.

The entire crowd was silent as they looked to the green giant. Then, the helmet turned to gaze at Frodo, and their eyes followed.

"I will take the ring to Mordor," The hobbit said in s small voice, "But I do not know the way."

Gandalf smiled warmly down at Frodo. 'Hobbits…Still surprising after all these years,' "I will help you bear this burden, as long at it is yours to bear."

Next was Aragorn. "By my life or death," He said, kneeling down on one knee before the Hobbit, "I can protect you. You have my sword."

"And you have my bow," An Elf said, stepping forward.

Then Gimli spoke, "And my axe." He glowered for a minute at the elf.

A silence fell as John stepped forward. He looked down at the Hobbit for a moment.

In that moment, he saw them. All of his fellow SPARTANs, all of his fellow soldiers and human beings who had failed to protect. But this, this was a second chance. A chance to save another world, and a chance to do it right. A small huff of amusement drifted from the helmet. "So, you, a person about the size of a small child, will brave hell and high water, risking your own life, just to save all of this?" He motioned at the crowd. Frodo looked up at him and into his visor.

The eyes that looked into it were familiar. He had seen this look in every soldier he had fought alongside. It flared like a sun with a million emotions at once. Defiance in the face of Death. Fear in the promise of Danger.

Courage in the face of Doom.

"I have carried this burden thus far. A little more will not kill me."

The Chief crossed his arms down at the Hobbit. "You'd be surprised." Then, without s a pause, the helmet turned to Elrond. "Permission to accompany him?"

Again, whispers ran through the crowd. Some were exclamations of shock, while others were of cautious curiosity. "Reclaimer," the Elf who had joined the group murmured, a tone of shock and awe in his voice and face. Aragorn merely smiled.

"Have a death wish, do you?" The Spartan looked down at the exiled king.

"So I've been told."

Apparently, Boromir had recovered enough from the shock of a green giant landing on his chair to form a coherent sentence.

"Have you all gone MAD!?" He stepped forward, running a hand through his hair, his face going from the crowd to John and back. "This…behemoth, appears out of nowhere, with no former hint at his presence, and we are to trust him??" The loyal soldier of Gpondor motioned to Elrond, "For all we know he has hoodwinked Elrond into trusting him! Is it not farfetched to say that this…thing," He raised an accusing finger at the Spartan, "could be a spy of Sauron??"

The Spartan kept watching Boromir as he advanced on him, hand outsrteched. "Show your face, demon! Or I'll show it for you!" With one swift motion and a blur of metallic green, the man's arm was tight in John's grip. Elrond let a small grin move over his face. Boromir struggled, but the Chief wouldn't release him. His visor leaned down to face the man, who looked back into it with shocked eyes.

"Don't touch the helmet." With another swift move, John released him, pushing his arm away. Boromir merely stared into the orange metal orange surface. "Like it or not, you need me on this mission. If not, then the next time the Wraiths come, we'll leave them to you."

The son of Gondor looked around sheepishly. "Very well," He said turning back to the group at large, "If this is the will of the council…Then Gondor will see it done."

A shout came from behind a bush as Samwise rushed forward to join the group. "Mr. Frodo isn't goin' nowhere without me!"

The Chief looked down at the gardener, "Eavesdropping?" The Hobbit looked away bashfully.

"OI! We're coming too!" A shout came from the wall and the other two hobbits ran forward, Merry and Pippin taking their place beside Frodo, "And you'll have to tie us up in a sack to stop us!"

"Anyway," Pippin piped up, "You need people of intelligence on this sort of mission…Quest….Thing!" The Chief visorpalmed as Merry murmured something to Pippin.

"Ten Companions…" The group looked up at Elrond. A pleasant smile adorned his face as he looked at the group before him. "So be it," He said with a tone finalization and, unless John was mistaken, pride, "You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring."

"GREAT!" Pippin clapped his hands excitedly, "Where are we going?"


	8. Settling Down and Setting Out

UNSC Frigate _Death Before Dishonor_

In orbit over Sangheilios

* * *

If there was one thing any ODST disliked, considered Gunnery Sergeant Matthew Castle as he watched the two Jackals go at it, it was this sort of watchdog duty.

He had to keep a good eye on the UNSC-New Covenant relations onboard the ship, which was in worse condition on the ship than the ship was itself. Every other day, a marine got in a fight with a Jackal, A Jackal picked on an Elite, and a bunch of Grunts got stepped on by an Elite and a marine. The trooper groaned, feeling his aching back. He'd been up all night (Well, night cycle, anyway) stopping fights and putting out fires, and, in general, making sure everything was fine as the ship idled in orbit around the planet. It was on stand-by for now, far from it's home, and the lack of action was making everyone feel a little jittery. Even Castle was feeling cabin fever coming on, but he kept it contained. A good image for the men, he reminded himself, and a good examplef or the aliens, too.

He felt a large hand clap on his shoulder, with a feel that was certainly not human. He looked up to see the familiar red armor of an Elite Major Domo. "What is it this time?" The deep voice of T'hir Vortam boomed as he surveyed the scene with what had to be the Sangheili version of annoyance. Castle merely frowned back at the scene and rubbed his buzzed hair as the Kig-yar began to swing stools at one another.

"It never fails," The ODST said in a southern drawl, "The second a Jackal mentions a rumor that someone might be peddling some high-yield goods, then 'forget' the name, they also forget that they run the risk of getting a tasty right hook."

T'hir sighed and stepped forward. "Come. The Captain informed me that such events result in a multitude of paperwork." Unconsciously, the Elite shivered. The fury of Human Navy officers could be…extreme, when their time was wasted on paperwork. Luckily, Castle caught the message. He sped forward and placed one of the Jackals in a full nelson while T'hir picked up the other by the throat. They squealed and squirmed like piglets while the crowd laughed. One glare from the Domo's yellow eye's silenced them and the crowd began to disperse, both Humans and New Covies.

"Figures," commented Castle as some other officers took the pair away, "The only way war enemies can bond is over a bar fight."

The Major Domo snorted, his mandibles flexing, "Unless another war comes around or your great Demon returns, perhaps this is the only way." The ODST gave him a sharp glance.

"Chief ain't dead. He can't be." The Elite gave him a look. Eye to eye, face to face, old enemies tried to measure up the other.

"Perhaps," The Elite said, giving the trooper a look equal to the one you'd give a boy who had just said his lost dog would come home, "Perhaps."

* * *

Rivendell

* * *

The Chief stepped down the winding stair in Rivendell, A messenger bag now bouncing against his side and the crossbow across his back. The bag was full of ammo, the small wooden canisters that fit inside the crossbow. While he was happy to happy something to work with, he made a mental note to conserve ammunition, possibly by utilizing dropped weaponry.

As he reached the landing, the Spartan-II looked in the faces of those who were here. Aragorn was lost in thought, hand holding the jewel of a new necklace. It looked familiar to John, and he recalled where he had seen it: It belonged to the female elf who had collected Frodo. Arwen, he remembered. But what connection existed between the two. But, as Aragorn looked up to John, he decided not to ask. What happened in Aragorn's life was his business, and his alone. John wouldn't breach that trust.

Gimli, the dwarf, sat on a banister, sharpening an axe with a whetstone. He gave the chief one look and then returned to his work. Boromir was also in attendance, speaking with Gandalf. The wizard gave John a tip of the hat, but Boromir's glance made it clear that John should keep clear of him. Obviously, the man was still suspicious of the SPARTAN, and John didn't want to give him any reason to instigate a fight. Legolas approached him and gave him a small bow. "Reclaimer."

"Don't," John said, lifting a hand.

The elf raised an eyebrow. "It is your sacred title amongst my people, Reclaimer. It will be hard to find an elf who does not address you with that title."

John leaned against a planter and crossed his arms, the armor shining in the morning light. "The last person who called me that killed a great deal of people, including a friend of mine. Then he tried to kill me."

Legolas nodded. "Than what am I to call you?"

"Something else," John said, turning his head to face the elf, "Just call me John for now."

Legolas was about to say something before the Dwarf spoke up. "John?" He bellowed, pausing form his work. The dwarf had an interesting voice. Even when he whispered, his voice seemed deep and booming, like a furnace or a forge. The dwarf barked a laugh and shook his head. "That is no name for a warrior! Sounds more like the name of a raving prophet."

"Show respect to the Reclaimer!" Legolas snapped at Gimli, taking a step forward, but the Dwarf would not be silenced by him.

"And what's with all this, 'Reclaimer' business? Bah! Elvish nonsense!" He grunted and slipped from his seat, slipping his axe onto his back. "I'll show him respect when he has given me reason too, not a moment sooner!" Legolas' reply (Which John was sure would have started a brawl) was interrupted by the sound of clanking metal. From a doorway emerged three out of the four hobbits. While Merry and Pippin were yawning (tired from a night of drinking and smoking, no doubt), Sam seemed to be more nervous than tired. His pack was almost larger than he was, rattling and jingling with pots and pans. John scoffed as the Elf blinked at the pack. Boromir raised an eyebrow. "Did you pack all of Rivendell in that pack, Hobbit?" Sam gave him a withering glare as he stepped towards John.

"Pardon me, sirs," He said, addressing both John and Legolas, "Have any of you seen Mister Frodo?"

The Spartan shook his head as Legolas crossed his arms. "I have not, young Hobbit."

"Earlier he talked about visiting his uncle," John supplemented, "Maybe he's with him."

"Ah," Gandalf said, chuckling. He seemed a little nervous to John when Bilbo was mentioned, and a little more burdened when Frodo was mentioned with him. "Well, let's home he joins us in time." He gave a sudden laugh in relief, motion his staff at a staircase, "Ah! Speak of the devil." Sure enough, there was Frodo, walking down the stair. His head was down, but John could make out a mixture of fear and remorse on his face. This troubled the SPARTAN, and, as Sam ran over to join his friend, he wondered exactly the extent of the Wraith's damage, and the weight that was the One Ring.

In all honesty, he didn't believe a word of it as magic. Science? Perhaps. John never wasted much time thinking about it. He was a solider, bred to fight and follow orders. He would do his duty to Frodo until they were all either dead or the objective was reached.

But what about afterwards? What would he do?

"Mr. Chief, sir?" The Chief felt someone nudge him in the side. Pippin was poking his side. The group was gathered and had begun to leave. John looked down and nodded, following the young hobbit. The ten fellowship members disembarked from the safety of Rivendell, setting out to end an evil, and bring doom to it's knees. John admired the heavens as they took the first steps on their quest, recalling ancient words spoken to him by his teacher.

Once more unto the breach.


	9. Limited Options

UNSC Frigate _Death Before Dishonor_

In orbit over Sanghelios

* * *

The briefing room was crowded, packed to the brim with both humans and Elites. The colors of the Sangheili ranks stood out against the olive green and drab grey of the Navy officers. Everyone stood around awkwardly, waiting for the briefing to begin. Castle, sitting at the far end, looked over the faces, tempted to puff on one of his cigars to help himself relax. Strange Sangheili and human engineers, mixed with familiar marines and Minors. T'hir was already in the room, leaning against a nearby wall, his crimson armor sticking out starkly against the grey of the wall. The ODST tossed him a questioning look, but the Major Domo just shrugged.

The doors hissed open again, and, upon seeing who it was, the crowed began to part. The firs tperson to step into the room was an aging human, graying hair standing out against his dark skin. Captain Thule looked around sharply at his crew. Ex-ODST, Carson Thule was as tough as they come. The command of the _Death Before Dishonor_, in his mind, was simply another step on the road to retirement. He was relaxed in his command, but, during the war, there were horror stories regarding his strict obedience to his own idea of regulations.

Behind him, clad in white armor, was Ultra D'mor Yuuta, the highest-ranking Sangheili on board. He surveyed the room from behind his white helmet. A few of the Sangheili stiffened as he entered, or tried to clean their armor. T'hir adjusted a shoulder plate, standing straight now. Castle knew better than to chuckle at this. D'mor's nicknames in the UNSC varied from "Captain Glass" to "Glass-hole", due to the fact he had glassed more worlds than any other Ultra on record.

The two proceeded to the head of the table, and the chatter died down. The Captain took a seat at the head while the Ultra stood behind him. It was obvious for everyone the respect the two had for each other. Before the Sangheili separated from the Covenant, Thule and D'mor had clashed more than once, from a Minor and Lieutenant on Reach to Ultra and Captain over Earth. After the Separation, the two had worked together consistently, helping to mend relations. Rumor had it each had some mean scars from the other.

Thule pressed a small button, and the Avatar of the ship's AI appeared. Yue took the form of a tall woman, with short hair and a long kimono, designed with flower petals. Her code shimmered as she appeared, casting a pale blue light over the faces of all present.

Thule nodded to Yue. "Take the floor, Yue. Tell 'em what you told us."

Yue bowed and turned to the assembled. From the center of the table came another hologram, this time a map of a system. A small blue light was blinking a few meters away from the last planet. "This," she spoke, feminine tones sounding far too real, "is Thermopylae-331, a star on the far fringes of the galaxy. The system is empty, for the most part, save for a planet with an indigenous population of mice." The blue light pinged, small rings coming from it like ripples on a pond, "And THIS is a UNSC beacon, seemingly dropped in the middle of nowhere. There isn't any UNSC activity in this sector, save for the patrol that picked up the beacon." The people were quiet as they listened intently, watching the screen change. A photo appeared in place of the system. It showed a UNSC beacon, a blue light glowing brightly. In the distance, among the stars, a faded, but identical, blue light burned against the black space.

Yue drew a small circle around the far-off light with a slender finger. "Upon moving to the location, the patrol found this-Another beacon, farther off. Presumably, there is a trail of these beacons leading into space." Castle leaned forward. The excitement was electric, tingling the short hairs on the back of his neck. "They picked one up," Yue continued, "And it's from the _Forward Unto Dawn_."

An excited murmur ran through the assembly. Human participants smiled widely as Sangheili looked from one another with mixed reactions. "This information," Yue began, the group silencing themselves, "Is highly classified. So far, those in this room are the only people aware of the origin of those beacons." Castle felt a shiver run down his spine, "And the only reason you know is because of a joint black-op Command has commissioned us for."

The room went deadly quiet. Thule coughed and stood. "UNSC Command has agreed with the Sangheili High Council that these beacons should be followed to wherever they lead. Any questions?"

There was silence. Then, a Sangheili raised his hand, the blue armor of a Minor reflecting the light. "Z'rac Gudaa, sir," He said nervously, yellow eye moving across the faces that were staring up at him. "Erm, on Sangheilios there is a small creature called a Ferrorat. It's similar to an Earth weasel." He coughed, nervously, before continuing. "The only way to…to catch one is to l-lead it into a cage with Talis berries."

A human mechanic in the back chuckled as the Minor rubbed his neck, abashed. "Greeeat," He guffawed, "Now we know how to deal with pest problems on alien worlds! Thanks, split-lip, you're a real genius!"

"No," Spoke T'hir, rubbing his chin with a hand and drawing all eyes to him, "The Minor almost articulated a point. This could very well be a trap. After all, we have no idea what happed to the rear of the _Dawn_ following it's separation from the forward half."

Castle turned in his chair to address the Major Domo. "So, your sayin' that this is some new species or somethin' found the ass-end of the _Dawn_, and thought it might be a good idea to draw some unlucky sumbitch into a trap?"

"That's the idea," T'hir responded with a shrug.

Thule listened closely before responding. "I can see the logic in that, Major Domo," He said to T'hir before turning back to the group at large, "Anyone who doesn't want to go on this mission, Pelican leaves for the planet in an hour. No hard feelings, no catch"

No one moved. Castle looked behind him to see most of the Elite's looking toward T'hir, who stood his ground. The ODST gave the major domo a nod of thanks. Thule stood, and the assembled stood with him, "Alright, troops, we move out at 0900. Prepare the ship for departure, and finish loading up the supplies." He adjusted his cap and gave the assembled a steady glare. The fire of war burned in his eyes again, and, if one looked close enough, it burned in D'mor's too. "Let's get to work."

* * *

Middle Earth

Somewhere along the Southern Pass, West of the Misty Mountains

* * *

The group made their way over hill and plain, their feet (Or hooves, in the case of Bill the Pony) pounding on the ground as they made their way west. From time to time, they'd stop and rest. The Hobbits would make their brunch, second breakfast, dinner, supper, or whatever meal they would eat. The Chief marveled at how their tiny bodies could consume so much food.

They reminded him of worms with that kind of appetite.

From time to time, Pippin or Merry would train with Boromir and Aragorn in swordsmanship. John would tend to his new crossbow, observing its mechanics and functions. It was rather like he had been given a Dark Age version of an assault rifle. He hadn't had a chance to utilize it yet, but, with mixed feelings of dread and excitement, John was sure he would soon.

At one point on their venture, the group came to a stop at a small plateau, outlined by boulders. Sam had made the group a small meal, and he and Frodo watched Pippin and Merry trained with Boromir. Aragorn sat on the sidelines, puffing away on a pipe and occasionally making comments on their stance or movements. John had finished eating already, and somehow avoided anyone seeing under his helmet. Now, he was sitting around a campfire with Gimli, Gandalf, and Legolas.

Quite a few times they had asked him to regale them with the tales of his past. Reclaimer or not, they still viewed him as a complete mystery. Today, he had reached a conclusion.

"Next thing I knew," He concluded, resting his back against the rocks as the three sat, listening intently, "I woke up at the foot of that watchtower. And," He said, shrugging, "That's that."

The dwarf chuckled as he puffed on his pipe. "Interesting story you have there, Master Chief," He said jovially. He had warmed up to John, mainly due to the story. It seemed the dwarves had a love for good tales, tall or not. That, and whatever plant was being smoked in that pipe.

The Elf nodded in agreement. "This Arbiter character," he said, smiling, "He must have been very brave, to lead his race out of the dark. And to do it, even when marked in shame," Legolas sighed, "What a true hero."

Gimli's eyes shifted to the Elf, "Hero? Hah! Johnson, now THERE'S a hero. Brash, bold, and had a fondness of leaf," He chuckled, "Your petty Arsebiter wouldn't stand a chance!"

"I can see why you'd think so, Dwarf," Legolas huffed, turning to glare at Gimli, "A love of smoking and barbaric tendencies are something you two have in common."

The Dwarf growled, taking his pipe from his mouth. The two looked like they were going to exchange blows. "Oh, and I suppose some overzealous alien murderer and backstabber strikes a common note with you, eh!" The Chief stiffened, ready to intervene if the two came to blows.

Luckily, Gandalf stepped up first. He chuckled as he gave each of them a good whack with the staff. The two gave him looks of indignation as the Chief relaxed.

Relaxation. That was something new to John. The only time he could ever remember relaxing was when he rested his head against the AI podium onboard the _Dawn_, thinking that the Devil had come to collect his due. But now, here he was, traveling with a group once more, and, somehow, he felt it was appropriate to take a moment to let his body decompress. Something told the SPARTAN that chances like this wouldn't come often.

"Y'know," Gimili said, breaking the silence, "if anyone were to ask my opinion, which I note they're _not_," The Dwarf spoke in mild offense, earning himself a glare from the Elf and the attention of the Chief, "I'd say we're taking the LONG way round." John paused. He had studied the maps of Middle Earth quite well during his time in Rivendell, and he knew that this land pass was the quickest way. When he voiced that fact, Gimli just chuckled.

"There are quicker ways, lad!" The Dwarf spoke jovially, puffing on his pipes, "We could pass through the Mines of Moria." He spoke of it like it was a sacred stop on pilgramage.

John paused. He had seen a city labeled Moria on the maps in Rivendell, but he had assumed the city was up in the mountains, not under it. "A city," he queried, "Under the mountains?"

Gimli chuckled, "That's where us Dwarves live, boy. Great stone halls, forges, mines-All can be found in the great Kingdom of Moria."

"And they're just supposed to let us in?" Again the Dwarf gave a merry chuckle. If he was supposed to be offended or not, John didn't know.

"It's ruled by my cousin Balin," Gimli said, his chest swelling with pride, "He'll give us a royal welcome! A feast the likes of which you've never known! Great kegs of malt and ale will be rolled out, all for us!" Again, John wasn't sure what to think. He'd never had alcohol in recent memory, and he was content with rations.

"No, Gimli," Gandalf suddenly spoke sternly, and John turned to face the Wizard. The old man's eyes burned, his face serious. "I would not take the road through Moria unless I had no other choice."

As Gandalf spoke, Legolas dashed to a raised rock at the end of the cliff. John followed his gaze, as did the rest of the group. A small, black thin line of something was moving through the sky.

"What is that?" Queried Sam.

Gimli huffed. "Nothing, just a wisp of cloud."

"It's moving fast," came Boromir's voice, "And against the wind."

Then, the sound of cawing reached Chief's ears. "Birds," He said, unsure why everyone was so tense.

Legolas was the first to sound the alarm. "Crebain from Dunland!"

"Hide!" Aragorn yelled, and the group scurried to take cover, extinguishing the fire and stamping out eh ashes, eyes on the oncoming flock of birds. The Chief slipped down into cover under an overhang, lying prone on the ground, and was soon joined by a pair of Hobbits. He didn't really care to look, but instead, his golden visor followed the birds in fascination as they overtook the campsite.

They were small, black birds, identical to crows, but they moved like a swarm of bats, wings flapping as they darted around, searching, peering, and looking for something. They chirped, cawed, and screamed as they each flew about the campsite.

Finally, the birds retreated off into the distance from where they'd come. Gandalf was the first to emerge. "Spies of Saruman," he growled, gripping his staff, "The pass south is being watched." The rest of the group followed his lead and stepped out of the cover. John's eyes never left the birds for a second until they had faded from view. Then, Gandalf spoke again. "We must take the Pass of Caradhras." The wizard turned to gaze up the mountain, at the snowy peak high above them. John followed his gaze and steadied himself.

This wouldn't be such an easy trip after all.


End file.
